John McAllen
by Jarikon
Summary: The first of a Trilogy, Marked is about Assassins, who have the ability to literally become their environments. They kill all those unfit to recieve the gift of Life. However, the Protectors have been given the same powers by God, in order to destroy them
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

**The Perfect Murder**

**17 Jan, 2026**

**4:18 p.m.**

**Alyeska Resort, Alaska**

The air was crisp. A white powder covered the lands. Crystals of ice formed upon the buildings. Children laughed, as they rode along the powder in a blue rubber tube. A group of teenagers rode down the powdered hill on a long, slender wooden board. Despite the chilling weather that surrounded the citizens of Alaska, they enjoyed themselves, as if it were summer.

They thought it was a normal summer day, a day to relax from the hardships of school. What they didn't know was that this day had been planned. Not just by one, but by many. The two senators of Alaska decided to visit with the youth of their state, so they planned an all day sledding/skiing/snowboarding trip at the Alyeska Resort. They, too, joined in the fun, seeing as they were both skiers.

They took the chairs that led to the top of the mountain, to ride down the entire mountain. As they got off, they ensured their skis were bound tightly to their feet, so as to reduce damages. They hopped off the chairs, and skied down the small hill that was used as a chair ramp. No one else was brave enough to join them that far, so they were all alone. The patrol workers were simply doing their job, making sure all were safe. They then turned to watch the rest of the mountain.

"So, Steven," the first senator asked. "How are you feeling?"

Senator Johnson was a little scared. He had ridden the rest of the mountain, but had never climbed this high. He quickly quelled his fear, an easy task for him. He loved to take risks, so an opportunity such as this was one he could not turn down. "I'm doing great, Kyle. How about you? Scared yet?" He added a little sarcasm, to lighten the mood.

Senator Anderson only laughed. "Are you kidding? You know I ride up here all the time. It was my connection to Alaska that won me Senator, if you recall."

The two gentlemen laughed at this, even though it was true. Senator Anderson had a way of making anything "a hysterical riot!", as he called it. What neither of them knew, what no one expected, was that someone was waiting for this exact moment. He had been planning this entire moment, right up to the laughter. He was waiting for them to be completely oblivious to their surroundings.

He rose from the snow that lay behind the two men, silent as air itself. He wasn't simply rising from the snow, like a normal person would, who was playing a fun game of "hide-and-seek". He was the snow, and was rising to become human form. He solidified, the two senators still oblivious to his presence.

Senator Johnson turned to his skiing partner. "You ready?" he asked.

"Only if you are," replied Senator Anderson. They smiled at each other, as if they had always been friends.

Those smiles slowly faded, and all time seemed to have slowed down, as the senators fell to the snow, daggers through their backs. Daggers that came from a man that was never there. No tracks showed he existed. No snow was ruffled, besides that of the victims. No prints on the daggers, to suggest he committed the crime. Not even a recording of his presence. If any camera were to be watching, all it would have captured would be the senators talking, laughing, and suddenly falling, dead.

He had committed the perfect crime, because he was no more than an Assassin, a race of beings with powers like none before. They blend into their environments, literally. They become the environments, never able to leave the slightest trace possible of their being there. John McAllen was one of them. This was to prove he was worthy to be accepted into the clan known only as the Marked Brotherhood, a clan of Assassins, whose life became a life of silent murders, to all that were no longer allowed to live. His kind.

He flew down the mountains, making sure no one knew he was ever there. Once he was within safe grounds, he returned to his normal form. He then climbed into his car, and drove off. A car that was never seen, never heard, never recognised. Just like him, it didn't exist to the Alyeska residents. As he was driving, his phone rang. He gave his number to only a select few, to pass off as friends. This call was marked as Unknown Number. He knew exactly who it was.

He picked up the phone with his right hand, continuing to drive with his left on the tip of the steering wheel. "I was wondering when I would get this call," he said.

The recieving end was silent for a few seconds, until a dark, failry young age simply replied, "Mission accomplished?"

He instinctively turned his head, to look behind him. No one was there. "Affirmative" was his only response.

"Well done. Sending coordinates to your laptop. Be there one minute early, or don't show up at all."

With that, a black bag suddenly started to play a familiar tune. It was his laptop's Message Alert sounding off. He closed the phone, set it down inside his middle compartment, and reached into the black bag. He pulled out a slim, silver laptop, opened it on the seat, and moved his index finger along the touch pad. On display was his e-mail, with confirmation of a new message.

All that read of the message was this:

CHUGIAK TUNNELS

RIGHT TUNNEL

1:00 P.M.

TOMORROW

and a display of their insignia, a spiral marking that lay upon ever Assassin. It was the only way to tell that one was an Assassin, as they never show their abilities to anyone. They know better. John's was directly below his right shoulder blade. He grazed it with his thumb as he looked upon it on the screen.

He smiled, victorious. Tomorrow, he would join his brothers in what he should have been raised in all his life. He was finally able to come home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

**Finding the Truth:**

**Entering the Brotherhood**

**18 Jan 2026**

**12:55 p.m.**

**Chugiak High School Entrance**

**Chugiak, Alaska**

John pulled into the entrance of the school. He had hoped he never needed to return here, ever since he graduated this last year. His academic brilliance excelled him to graduate at the age of fifteen. Now, a year later, he returned with dread. The exterior had not been remodeled for more than twenty years, give or take a few paint jobs. The interior had to undergo slight modifications, such as locker upgrades, computer replacements, new audio systems, and the like.

Only one place in the state was known as the Chugiak Tunnels, and John knew that. They lied underneath the highway, guiding passage to the trails used in school sports and activities. To him, they led to the completion of his destiny. All his life, he had dreamed of being in the Marked Brotherhood. Now, those dreams were about to come true.

He pulled over at the closest parking spot to the entrance to the tunnels. He pulled open the door, and an immediate rush of wind swept through his vehicle. His black leather jacket did not fully shield his torso from the chilling grips of winter, but that did not disturb him. He was an Alaskan, used to the cold temperatures at this point.

He walked down the path to the entrance, stopping there. He looked ahead to the pair of wavy ridged pipes, built into the hill under the highway. Metal wires were stapled into the ceiling, giving power to lights that aided one on a cold, dark night. They provided warmth to homeless people on several occassions, and were common access to students in their spare moments. The stench of alcohol and tobacco filled the tunnels, and John nearly gagged from it.

John looked at his watch: 12:58:36. He had only 24 seconds to find where he needed to be. He walked into the right tunnel, searching the walls for a clue. Vandalism smothered the interior, words and symbols of spray-paint decorating the pipe. John thought it impossible to find anything in this mess of graffiti.

That was when he saw it. Directly in the center of the right wall, his mark was painted into the ridges with a dripping black paint. He ran his fingers upon it, a smile of darkness creeping onto his face. He was victorious. John McAllen had found the entrance to his life's destiny. His home. His fate. His world. It all laid behind this doorway. He was finally happy.

Reality pulled him back, as his watch suddenly chimed. He had set his watch to 12:59, so he would know exactly when it was time to come home. He inhaled a deep breath, and blended into the door. Somehow, though, he felt himself continuing to walk. He knew this was odd, but pressed forward. It was where he stopped that he was dumbfounded.

John had walked into a golden room. The walls were glittered with minerals of every sort John could think of, and he knew far too many. The room itself was larger than the school, with an enormous chandelier hanging from the tip. It domed over John, like an over-sized hemisphere. He was amazed at the sight. Whatever his dreams might have been, surely, they were nothing like this.

Slowly, yet suddenly, Assassins began to appear before him from the ground and walls. Some of them were not much older than he was. Many were in their mid-twenties or thirties. Many still were much older than that. The oldest in the room was over a hundred years old, and beginning to permanently blend into his environment. They all encircled him, watching intently, as Parliament encircled the main speaker of the moment.

One man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, approached John, hand outstretched, saying, "Welcome, brother. We are glad that you are finally able to join us. I am Marcus, the current leader of the Marked Brotherhood. We have been expecting you, John McAllen."

John shook his hand, replying, "I have waited longer, sir."

With that, Marcus walked to the wall, seating himself upon a high chair. A chair that was not there a moment ago. John watched as the entire clan sat down upon chairs and benches that had formed out of the ground. It looked very much like a Parliamentary courtroom, with the exception of the golden surroundings.

Marcus looked down upon the newest recruit. "Do you know the story of our kind, McAllen?"

John cleared his throat, standing straight and poised. "Yes, sir," he replied. "I do."

"Recite it," commanded the leader.

John began to tense up a bit. It made him nervous to see that all the eyes were upon him, and that the only two who have spoken so far were himself and Marcus. Still, he calmed himself, and began. "Well, sir, it began with our forefather, Johann Grungit, over six centuries ago. When he was just a little boy, he accidently ran into a pillar, which crashed down upon his unexpecting older brother. He loved his brother to death, literally. But, for some odd reason, it excited him. He somehow enjoyed the event a bit, despite losing his best friend that day.

"It inspired him to drive the pleasure further, and he began to kill more and more people. He was filled with a rush each time, and couldn't get enough of it. So, oddly enough, he pleaded with God to turn him into the perfect assassin. When God refused, he became angry, and turn to the Lord's arch-rival, the Dark Lord himself. He vowed that he would give up his soul, if only to be the perfect assassin.

"Satan was so amused by this, he made a deal with Johann. He said (let me see if I got this right), "Not only shall I grant this to you, but every descendant of your blood shall bear this mark. TYour souls shall be eternally mine, in exchange for the ultimate power of death. The earth shall be at your expense, to do with as you please. You, and all that descend from you, shall be the perfect assassins. This is your gift. This is your burden. This is your fate.'

"Johann was more than pleased with this deal, and agreed. And that is how we are who we are, sir."

Marcus was impressed with this boy's remarkable memory. "Well done," he said. "And so it is. We have descended from that man, and we are much like he is. However, as time progressed, we began to devote our lives to ridding the world of all those who no longer deserve the gift of life. Over the past two centuries, this room is linked to the outside world, through many doorways, much like the one you used to get here. We see everything that happens on Earth, from a child taking a Tootsie Roll off a table without asking, to a gang robbing a bank, to murders being committed. All that we need to see, we see. That is why we asked you to kill those two senators."

John cut him off quickly. "Why did you send me to them?"

"Because," Marcus explained, "those men had lives they hid from the public. Anderson, before coming to America, was a sex offender, harassing many, and even assaulting one young woman when in his twenties. Johnson, before coming here, was a professional bank robber, knowing how to get the job done, before anyone could possibly trace the crime back to him. He had made millions of dollars through theft and foolery. Both hid their lives from vieweing eyes. Neither were known for their track records. No one knew, except us.

"This is what we do. This is our burden, our responsibility, our duty to the planet. And we uphold that to the very end. Silence is our weapon, and Nature is our sheathe. That is why I ask you: John McAllen, newest to our brethren, to this do you swear?"

John looked around. All eyes were still fixed upon him. "All my life I had waited to be one of you. All my life I wanted to be an Assassin of the Marked Brotherhood. Do I turn on that dream? Do I walk away from this life, from those of my kind? Can I even think of a reason to do so? No, I cannot. So, until the end of time, until my body joins my soul in Hell for eternity, I swear to this oath. I shall serve this clan until I die."

Marcus cocked his head slightly. He knew what neded to be done, so he pulled out a knife, and threw it at John. John was shocked, and bent over backwards. He blended into the floor, in order to escape the knife. When he pulled himself back up, he saw himself alone. He look around, wondering why they all disappeared. _Why are they testing me? Shouldn't my words be enough? Do they really need proof that I am worthy?_

Not a second later, machine guns fired down upon John. He blended back into the ground, although it did not help him much. The bullets pierced through the ground, each opne harming him as well. He knew he had to stop them, so he used the floor as his eyes, looking for the source of the gunfire. Robotic turrets fired but a few feet from the ceiling, risen from a platform.

He climbed through the walls to that platform, appearing behind one of the turrets. None of them had noticed him yet, so he broke the head of. Sparks flew from the wires, as it flung its arms wildly around. He blended into the turret, and fired at the rest of the guns. All were destroyed quickly, since they were only made for offense. Defensive shells were not thought of here, so every turret was ripped apart by John's.

Once all were finished off, he leaped off the platform, into the ground, like one to to dive off a diving board into a deep pool. He blended through the floorboards, resurfacing moments later. He appeared to the sight of the Brotherhood, watching him again. Marcus stood in front of him. "You are ready," he said. He slapped his hand upon John's left shoulder, as the Brotherhood broke out into cheers of joy. Another brother was brought home at long last.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Paranoia, or Foreshadowing?**

**18 Jan 2026**

**1:29 p.m.**

**Marked Brotherhood Headquarters**

**Unknown Location**

Their celebration was quickly cut off, as an alarm suddenly sounded. John, as well as many of the Brotherhood, was startled. Some Assassins panicked. Marcus ran to the furthest wall, stood in front of it, waved his hand at it, and a computer instantly appeared. It seemed to appear out of thin air, from the wall. The computer was flashing a bright red color, with a large black "ALERT!" blinking, and the Marked symbol below the word.

Marcus was worried. "What's going on? Computer, state emergency."

A bland, emotionless robotic voice replied, "State of Emergency. State of Emergency. Threat to Brotherhood. Threat to Brotherhood."

Marcus' eyes widened immensely, as a cartoon, when it saw a piano about to collapse upon him. "Location" was all he said.

The computer's message switched to a green holographic globe. A tiny red dot blinked in the North America region, then the image zoomed in on that continent. The red dot blinked again, larger because it was closer. The image zoomed in, again, to the United States. The state lines were visible. The same red dot, larger still (yet not bigger than an eraser on a pencil), blinked again. It was in New York, and the image zoomed in further.

New York was that the image showed. The cities and landscapes were visible. The red dot blinked once more, in the city of Albany. The image zoomed in on Albany, New York. It showed an overview image of the city. No exact details, because everthing was nothing but green lines. The red dot blinked one last time, in the streets. The image zoomed in for the last time, filling in the details. It showed people walking in all directions. It was, after all, a somewhat busy town. A black line outlined two figures. These two were brought forth, and the rest of the image was gone. The two people first appeared fuzzy, then were cleared to a perfect detail.

One looked too familiar to Marcus. Nevertheless, he had to be sure. "Computer, identify subjects."

The computer pulled the two figures forward, facing them towards Marcus, and showing only down to their shoulders. Many letters and numbers raced along the computer, although organised in the following categories, beside each subject:

Name:

Age:

Height:

Weight:

Race:

Group:

Reason of Threat:

Marcus waited for the results, until the racing stopped. Each line was filled with the correct information.

On the left, it read: On the right, it read:

Name: JAMES PIERSON Name: ZACHARY FIELDS

Age: 25 Age: 42

Height: 6' 0" Height: 5' 10"

Weight: 183.57 LBS. Weight: 203.15 LBS.

Race: CAUCASIAN Race: ASIAN AMERICAN

Group: HOMO-SAPIEN Group: ASSASSIN

Reason of Threat: LISTENING TO ASSASSIN Reason of Threat: TELLING ASSASSIN

HISTORY HISTORY

What shocked Marcus the most was the Reason of Threat. He couldn't believe this was possible. He never imagined an Assassin to tell a human the story. Much less his own brother. He knew what had to be done, but he couldn't say it. When he hesitated, falling to his knees in agony, his left-hand man, Futari Miyasaki, spoke up. His Japanese accent was difficult to understand, but the Brotherhood learned to deal with it. Many had one, so it was easy to get past that. So, they all knew what he was saying: "Bot o' dem need too bee eeleemeenatid. Who take dees?"

John got what he was saying, though he couldn't understand that well. He stepped forward, and said, "Let me, sir. If anyone should, with the exception of our leader, it should me. This shall be my true test of loyalty."

Another stepped forward. He told John, "You are new, but you still know the rules. You must not be seen. You must not be heard. You must have no witnesses. Understand?"

John nodded, and walked to the door the Assassins pointed to. _Time to show them what I'm made of,_ he thought to himself. And, just like that, he was gone through the door. Gone to his first mission as an Assassin.

**18 Jan 2026**

**Street Ghettos**

**Albany, New York**

He couldn't believe his ears. He thought the man was insane, a lunatic, a man in dire need of a psychiatric hospital and a straight-jacket. James Pierson was not believeing a word the man said. "You really need help, Mr.--?"

"Fields," the man replied. "Zachary Fields. And, I know this sounds completely crazy. But, I just can't take this secrecy and merciless killing anymore. Look, I'll even prove this to you!"

With that, he blended into the ground below them, leaving James wide-eyed, and terrified. He looked around frantically, hoping this was just a trick. Suddenly, though, arms wrapped themselves around him, from behind. Zachary's voice whispered in his ears, "I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but America (or, at least, someone) ought to know we exist. They're probably coming for me, right now."

James was just about to scream, a move Zachary anticipated. He covered James' mouth, as much as he struggled. "Quiet. I'm as good as dead, but you have to stay in public's eyes. We cannot have witnesses, so until you are alone, an Assassin shall never strike you. Stay within eyesight of **any** crowd. And, whatever you do, if somehow they mess up (a feat that is hard for us to do), and you see this mark..."--He showed him the mark on his arm, right on the inside of the joint (where the elbow is, on the opposite side)--"...run for your life. Run for public, and someone will always see you. Please believe me on this, because it is all true. Some day, an Assassin **will** come for you. You have to stay alive. Farewell."

And that was the last James Pierson ever heard of the man named Zachary Fields. Fields blended back into the ground, bolting as far away from James as possible, and reappeared in a park. He wandered around, waiting for his demise. He knew it was to come, and wondered if his brother took it upon himself to kill him.

He was disappointed, as a young kid suddenly slowly rose from the grass. Zachary frowned. "Where is my brother? Where is Marcus Fields?"

John knew that had to be the leader. "I was sent, to prove my loyalty to the clan. You have betrayed us, Zachary Fields, and now you shall pay for it."

"I had hoped to die by my brother's hands, but--"

It was at that exact second that a voice poke from behind him. A voice he knew all-too-well. "Then your wish is my command...Brother."

Marcus seethed the last word from his teeth. It sent a chill down Zachary's spine. Marcus asked him, "Why did you do it? Why did you betray us?"

"I'm sorry, Brother," Zachary said, backing away from both of the Assassins. "I couldn't stand the secrecy much longer. Someone had to know. Plus, when I looked into that woman's eyes...I just couldn't stand it. Please, Brother, if you will kill me, at least allow me the chance to fight."

Marcus looked down, breathing heavily, jaw clenched. He looked back up at his brother, and said, "Very well. John, you find Pierson. I'll deal with this one."

Zachary did not smile. He did not raise his fist to the sky, in triumph. He did not celebrate. He simply nodded, sighing. As much as he wanted this, he was a respectful one. Despite having betrayed his brethren. He drew his daggers, as Marcus drew his own.

They charged at each other, silently dashing through the grass, and clashing blades as they drew close. They rolled on the grass, bouncing back up, turning around, and charging yet again. They slashed and stabbed, all the time hitting air. When one was close to striking the other, he simply descended into the ground, and then rose a distance from the attacker. It was a battle of epic proportions, for it was the first time any number of Assassins were fighting each other. These two were complete equals.

However, the fight had to end sometime. Zachary slashed at Marcus, who faded into the grass. Zachary quickly watched his surroundings. An Assassin could easily tell when a fellow Assassin was about to rise. Still, he saw nothing.

That is, until it was too late. Marcus quickly rose from the ground, and before his brother could react, he plunged his daggers into Zachary's heart. A gasp of air fled his lips, as he choked up blood. He was dead within a few seconds, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Marcus released the daggers, and watched his dead brother fall. Tears streaked down his face, knowing full well what he had done. Though he knew it had to be done, he never wanted to. He still watched, as his brother's body slowly became the grass itself. An Assassin's death. There was never need for a burial, because they became part of Nature itself. He walked back to the doorway, still crying tears of agony.

**26 Jan 2026**

**4:31 p.m.**

**Starbucks Coffee Shop**

**Albany, New York**

James felt he was losing his mind. He felt like everyone was his enemy. He felt like no one was his friend. He couldn't trust a soul. However, he listened well to the advice he was given, and stayed within, at the very least, one person's eyes at all times. Sometimes, he even tried to make himself the center of attention, by yelling at some random person, or jumping off high stands and tables, or simply racing into the center of a circle of people, and telling them ridiculous stories.

Whatever the case, he made sure someone was always looking. This time was no exception. It was becoming more and more difficult now to stay within eyesight. People just thought him crazy, and moved on in their conversations. Some didn't even glance at him.

So, he dragged his best friend into a Starbucks coffee shop, "just to talk," he said. Patrick Lindquist was no fool, though. He knew there was a reason for all this paranoia. He had seen James on drugs before, but this was more than unlike him.

"All right, man," he said, straight-out. "What's buggin' you? What's wrong?"

James seemed to be offended by this. "Wrong?" he asked, speaking fast. "What would g-g-give you that im-impression?"

"I know you, James. What's up? Why are you getting all jittery?"

James tried to take deep breaths, but every time he tried, he shook like he had ice shoved down his back. Finally, he told Patrick the entire story. He told him everything Zachary had told him, detail for detail. He even attempted to draw the symbol that was on Zachary's arm. James was a good artist, but because he was petrified with fear, he couldn't control the shaking of his hand. Still, he ended up with a half-decent drawing of the image.

While he spoke, Patrick simply nodded his head, his lower lip pressed into his upper lip. He closed his eyes, and tried to listen to his friend. When James had finished, Patrick continued to nod for a few seconds. James became more agitated, and asked, "Well?"

After a long sigh, Patrick replied, "All I can say is...Have you lost your mind?!"

James laughed very nervously, which turned a few heads towards them. He said, "That's, haha, the same reaction...hih hih hih hih hih...that I had when I first heard the story. But you gotta believe me. I didn't, until he showed me. He just..."--James made a whooshing sound, as he threw his hands down to the floor.--"...right into the ground. Then, just like that, he was behind me, and whisperin' in my ear. I was, I-I...I was, like...TERRIFIED!!"

His last word was shouted so loudly, it brought everyone's eyes to his table. They then returned to their prior business. Patrick was getting tired of this. "Dude, we've been through a lot, but you have finally hit the roof, man. I mean, are you even listening to yourself? Who talks like this? You're spouting nonsense, man. I just...I just think you need help, that's all."

"Look," James said, finally starting to calm down. Keyword: starting. "You know I've never been this scared of anything in my life. They're comin' to get me. That's why I need to be within eyesight at all times. That guy--Zack, or whatever his name is--told me Assassins never kill with witnesses. So, if I'm around people, there will be one too many witnesses. Please, just help me man. I've never been this scared before."

"Dude, you were frightened of the time my mom introduced the dog to you."

"I'm telling you: that dog looked like he wanted to kill me."

"He never even growled at anybody, not even you."

"Look, just please, man. Please stay with me, help me."

Patrick was shaking his head again, and said, "No. This is too ridiculous. I've followed you our whole lives, but this? ...No way, man. No. If you're wanted by them, then I guess they should take you."

And with that, Patrick turned his back to leave. James was about to call to him, when suddenly, something stabbed through his heart. He tried to look back, but his neck seemed to not be working. He never saw the Assassin. No one did. All he could do was groan. And then, everything was white.

That caught Patrick's attention. He turned back to his friend, to see him dead. His head was bent backwards, his eyes seemed to be staring at the ceiling, his mouth was wide-open. Patrick was horrified. However, was scared him most was that no one was near them. Nothing was left behind. Not a single clue.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

**A Surprise to All**

**26 Jan 2026**

**5:41 p.m.**

**Marked Brotherhood Headquarters**

**Unknown Location**

John began to reform, back inside the golden room. Though he had only been there once before, he felt like he had returned home from a long journey. He stepped forward to Marcus, standing at attention. Marcus knew he was serious, and said, "At ease, Brother."

John relaxed his posture very slightly, as Marcus turned away from him, and reported, "Mission Accomplished. The man named James Pierson is now dead. No evidence, no witnesses, no cameras. It was perfect, as always."

Marcus whipped around, facing John dead in the eye. "No," he seethed. "It was not perfect. Yes, the death was, but it was too late. You were sent to kill him, in order to **prevent** **him from telling anyone**. You couldn't even do that."

John was speechless. "I...I...I couldn't--"

"You couldn't get him alone. That was the whole point. That was what he was trying to do. He was making sure he couldn't be killed. I'm glad you took the first chance to kill him, but it was too late. In case you were paying no attention at all to him, he told his best friend, Patrick Lindquist. Now, Patrick knows the story, and he's not as paranoid about it. In fact, he's much the same, only using the same strategy James used: he's refusing to be alone."

A muscular Assassin stepped forth. He was in his late twenties, with muscles that would suggest he was once a bodybuilder. His hair was trimmed to a military cut. A fairly dark tan gave him the appearance of an Egyptian guard, and the piercings alog his earlobes supported that theory. John knew he was to never mess with this guy.

"Clearly, he is not cut out yet for such a job as this. Allow me, Your Excellency."

_Manners, huh?_ John thought, in amazement. _Impressive. I thought he was more of the fearing type than the respectful type._

"Very well, Horus," Marcus replied. "Kill that man, and **any and all who hear him.**" As he said this, he glared into John's eyes. John bowed his head, in failure.

Horus was pleased, but he remained calm. He flexed his muscles, saying, "This shall be easy, Your Excellency."

With that, he turned. As he faced John's direction, he growled at the inferior Assassin. John was still in shame. Horus then walked out the exit, and onto his next mission.

**30 Jan 2026**

**6:00 p.m.**

**Town Square**

**Albany, New York**

Patrick was, indeed, calmer than James, upon knowing the truth. He wasn't frantic to stay within eyesight. He didn't make himself the center of attention. He barely even walked into large crowds. He was nearly the same person as before. He simply was more alert.

Now, there is a significantly monumental difference between alert and paranoid. Paranoid is to suggest that you can trust no one, and become afraid of everything. Alert simply means you make your body ready for anything. No matter the cause, no matter the consequences, you simply keep your guard up for anything at all. Nothing more.

That was how Patrick was. He stayed alert. If he felt threatened at eany moment, he would calmly scan his surroundings, and eliminate the possibilities, until none were found. He didn't kill anybody; he simply calculated the odds that they were an enemy. He made the four following steps to determine a threat:

1. Eyes on me-Is the possible threat staring me down when he thinks I'm not watching?

2. Stalker-Is the possible threat around, everywhere I go?

3. Weapons-Can I see any weapons the possible threat may carry?

4. Mark-Do the possible threat bear that Mark James showed me?

If the person does not fit all three categories, he (or she) is not a threat. Plus, if the Assassin wanted him dead, too, he would have killed him with James. There were plenty of oppurtunities. Maybe they didn't know, just yet, that he knew. Still, if they could figure out a betrayal, they could figure out James told someone. That someone would eventually be narrowed down to him.

That eventuality was narrowed down to today, just a few days following the incident. He was wandering through the town square, when suddenly, he felt threatened. He couldn't explain it, but it was as if he somehow knew he was being watched. He couldn't tell where, he couldn't tell how, but he could tell why: an Assassin had to be nearby.

He gave a quick 360, analyzing the situation. None fit all four steps. A few fit one or two of the steps, but none hit all four. That is, until he saw it: one man, a large, tan man, full of piercings, and a bit frightening to look at, was a definite match. And, if that elimination process wasn't enough, he watched as a group of teens passed in front of this guy, and he was gone by the time the group finally walked by. He had to be an Assassin.

He was starting to hyperventilate, but quickly calmed himself. _Get a hold of yourself, Patrick,_ he thought to himself. _James said they can't strike with witnesses. So, just stay within eyesight of the crowds._

This wasn't an impossible task for Patrick. He simply started chatting with a lot of the groups. Most of them knew who he was, as he was a fairly popular kid in school. He chatted with them, all the while looking over his shoulder. After a few hours, he figured he was safe. He saw no sign of the Assassin, and thought that he could not possibly kill him. He waved goodbye to the groups, and headed for home.

Because of this, and because he had not looked over his shoulder, he did not see that as a bird flew overhead, a shadow passed from the nearest building's shadow, to the bird's shadow. When the bird's shadow approached Patrick's, the figure passed on to the next shadow, waiting to strike. Patrick kept walking, not a clue as to how dangerous his situation was.

He had walked right past an alleyway, as Horus rose to kill the oblivious man. He was inches from piercing through, when out of the alleys, a shadow stabbed through him.The shadow formed into a man, one Horus had never seen before. It was only because he cried aloud that Patrick realised their presence. He whipped around, to see the Assassin stabbed by someone else. The Assassin quickly spun around, punching the other in the face.

The fight had begun. Both floated in and out of their surroundings. Both were equally skilled. Both had clashed numerous. However, the other was better in the end, as he moved to snap Horus' neck, before Horus even knew what was happening. He was dead, instantly. The other popped his own neck, though the dark alleys hid his body from Patrick.

Patrick was aghast with fear. "Y-Y-Y-Y-You're one of them, aren't you?"

The other slowly stepped out of the alley shadows. He was definitely African, a tribal member. He wore bravery upon his face, courage upon his breast, and responsibility within his eyes. He looked to Patrick, with very honest eyes, and said, "No. I am one **against** them. I am a Protector, a new race of people. When God saw the extent of the Assassins, he showed himself to a tribe. He told them they would be given the same powers if, and only if, they would devote their lives (as well as the lives of their children) to destroying the Assassins, down to the very last one. Only then shall he take back the gift. My name if Michael. I will be your Protector."


End file.
